


Let It Happen

by Skippyjo94



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Bottom Peter Parker, But he's not a bad guy, Choking, Coming In Pants, Control, Desperation, Dom Quentin Beck, Dom/sub, Grinding, Just a nuisance really, Kinktober 2020, Kissing, Light Choking, M/M, Marking, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Denial, Rutting, Slapping, Slight Overstimulation, Sub Peter Parker, Subspace, Top Quentin Beck, Villain Beck, Wall Sex, light slapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27030046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skippyjo94/pseuds/Skippyjo94
Summary: Peter has been struggling mentally for a while when he has a run in with Quentin Beck. The man is an expert at reading Peter, and he knows exactly what the issue is. Quentin leaves Peter extremely worked up and confused with an offer to find him in order to finish the job and an order that Peter not finish until Quentin tells him to.Peter tries anyway and finds its an order he doesn't wanna disobey. Eventually he's had enough and finds Quentin to release him from this torture. Quentin is happy to oblige him.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 28
Kudos: 112
Collections: Thwip & Hari's Kinktober '20





	Let It Happen

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so, this is my first ever prompt fic. It's for a Kinktober event in the discord server I'm in. My prompts were "Orgasm Denial" and "Aftercare" which I absolutely love reading, so hopefully I did it justice somehow.
> 
> I did not intend this to go the way it went and I definitely didn't mean for it to be as long as it is. But, no control, so 20k it is apparently.
> 
> I did intend this to be a bit whumpier than it turned out, but apparently I'm incapable of writing mean cause they always turn into "consent is sexy" kinda things. Hope it still works though! I'm pretty pleased with it considering how nervous I am about posting it! Hope everyone enjoys!

Peter was desperate. Well and truly desperate. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this bad off. 

He had discovered early on his- well, his preferences. 

As a hero, he spent a good majority of his time in the suit dealing with some kind of injury related to the fights he got into as Spider-Man. He had learned that even though he didn't prefer to be hurt afterwards (and there were few things that injured him enough to stay hurt long), there was a certain rush to the act of getting hurt during a fight. There was just something about the struggle and the adrenaline that made it almost feel good at times. 

He also really enjoyed not being in control. Maybe it was because he always had to be on top of things as Spider-Man, and even as Peter Parker, in order to keep his identities separate. Giving up that control was a luxury he had not enjoyed since Germany with the Avengers.

It was a luxury Peter was sorely missing.

He couldn’t allow himself to get into  _ that _ kind of thing with a partner. Not that he’d had the luxury of a partner in months, either. He was on his own and had been for a while and he was struggling because of it.

Peter had been fighting Beck again recently. As it was getting difficult to care about the passage of time, he wasn’t sure when exactly it had happened. 

There were always times after a fight that the adrenaline and everything got him so worked up, he found himself achingly aroused for no apparent reason. But never before had it happened  _ during _ the fight. 

_ At the time, he had been facing off against Beck and the man had gotten him pinned to the wall (a benefit of his new technologically advanced suit), hands tight around his neck. Peter was struggling to breathe, his vision blurring a bit at the edges. _

_ It hurt, and he didn’t even know what was happening. Just all of a sudden he was hard in his suit, and his squirming wasn't an attempt at getting away, but an effort to get closer. He tried to still his body but it was like there was something blocking the message from his brain. _

_ Beck figured it out first, because of course he did.  _

_ Laughing, he leaned right in against Peter's body, removing a hand from Peter's neck to grab the hand not already pinned behind him and raise it above their heads. He shoved the wrist harshly against the brick of the wall. Peter whimpered at the feeling of all that muscle and power keeping him in place.  _

_ "Oh? What's this? Feeling a little adventurous today are we, Spider-Man?" As he pressed even closer, now flush with Peter's body, Peter couldn't even try to deny it. "Or have you always been this into it?” _

_ Peter was glad the mask hid his face. Even though Beck knew his identity, it still concealed how red his cheeks had gotten and what he was sure must be noticeable arousal in his eyes. “Is that why you like to play the hero, huh? You get off on the pain? Or maybe the humiliation of being beaten?" Peter's hips twitched forward without his permission at the words.  _

_ "Yeah, that's exactly it.” Peter aimed for sarcasm but he felt the attempts failing even as he persisted. “Explains all the times you've beaten me." Peter did his best to quip back at the villain like normal. He was pretty pleased with himself, despite the breathy tone to his voice undermining the message slightly. At least until the man ground into him to show his frustration.  _

_ In hindsight, antagonizing the man that was physically restraining him might not have been the recommended course of action. Not that he was complaining, given the outcome. _

_ "I don't think you're in any position to be talking big like that, Peter." Pulling away, Beck's eyes traveled down the length of Peter's body, leaving warmth as they went. "Especially not now. Not since now I know how much you like this position in particular. I might be tempted,” he pushed his hips into Peter's again to demonstrate his point, "to keep going." _

_ Peter let out a gasp at the promise in Beck’s voice, even though he knew it was intended as a threat.  _

_ Quentin caught on quickly though. You didn't get to be a successful fake superhero without being smart as hell.  _

_ “Unless... that's what you want? Hmm? Would you like that? Being held to this wall and fucked so hard even your healing takes time to fix it?" Quentin had worked a thigh between Peter's legs while he spoke and was using it to rub against Peter's erection.  _

_ Peter wasn’t sure when it happened, but at some point he had started moving again, tiny thrusts against the man's well-muscled leg, rutting forward in the limited space and displaying how little control he had over himself.  _

_ Although, at the moment, he wasn't sure he wanted control.  _

_ Suddenly pulling away, Quentin kept Peter pinned in place, now with only a look. A smug grin took over his face at the sight Peter made. It was certainly one he’d remember.  _

_ Peter was obviously hard in his skin tight suit, a small wet spot giving away how excited he was. He had his head thrown back against the wall and his chest was heaving from how hard he was breathing. His hips were still twitching as he subconsciously sought friction. _

_ "You know, if I'd known you were so hard up, I would’ve offered my services a long time ago. You always seemed like the type who had someone. But apparently not."  _

_ Scrunching his face up in a mockery of deep thought, he asked, "Whatever happened to that pretty girl from the Europe trip? Was she not keeping you in line? Not doing her job giving you what you needed?” He scoffed, acting offended. “And you think I'm the bad guy! She can't even beat her slutty little sub properly."  _

_ His words did as much for Peter as his body had been doing just moments before. Peter rankled a bit at the way he spoke about MJ but he was too lost to the man's attention to really defend her.  _

_ The truth was, they hadn't worked out. And partially for that very reason. MJ was too kind of a soul to give Peter what he really craved. Not that he had ever brought it up, because she would have just worried for him if she knew.  _

_ Even now, especially in this scenario, she would be very concerned. Peter was forced to admit that it wouldn’t be unfounded.  _

_ "We're not together anymore." Peter had known as he said it that that was not the part of the question he should have been addressing. "But she's still my friend so don't talk about her like that."  _

_ Quentin actually laughed. This kid, still flat against the wall, was trying to defend his friend and he couldn't even manage more than a request. He almost felt bad enough to give the kid a break. _

_ Almost. _

_ He did like Peter. Even now, when they were very clearly on opposing sides. He had an irritating little habit of ruining Quentin's plans, but they both still enjoyed any time their paths crossed.  _

_ And with the way this meeting was turning out… _

_ He had watched Peter grow up a lot since their initial meeting in Europe. At some point, he had felt the tension in their ‘meetings’ taking on a new, very specific, weight. To know that Peter had felt it too… _

_ It took Quentin all of realizing Peter was hard against him to decide he was going to switch things up a bit. He had long since come to the conclusion he wanted to wreck the kid, his innocence practically demanding it. Now seemed like the perfect time to act on that. _

_ Deciding how to go about it had been easy. He wanted to torture the boy, but in a way that ensured he would come back for more. _

_ He kept his distance for a moment, building the anticipation and waiting to see what Peter would do with the freedom he had been offered. He knew the boy wasn’t scared of him. Since their encounter on the bridge in London, Beck hadn’t tried to hurt Peter directly. _

_ He knew a lost cause when he saw one, and physically fighting Peter? Absolutely a lost cause.  _

_ The real fun was in the intellectual sparring anyway. Peter was a genius and his ability to use his brain power on the fly was impressive even to Quentin, who should arguably be more irritated by it than anything. _

_ And he was irritated by it still. He was just choosing other, more enjoyable ways to deal with the situation. _

_ Approaching Peter again, he used the extra inches he had on the kid’s modest height to his advantage. Peter was forced to tilt his head back to look up at Quentin. If he had been in anything but his Spider-Man suit, the movement would have bared his neck temptingly.  _

_ Oh well. As long as it went the way Quentin wanted, there would be much more where that came from. _

_ Peter had been doing his best to hold still, for reasons he didn’t want to look at too closely. By all accounts he should have tried to run. He could easily have escaped by now. _

_ But between his curiosity and his desire, he was trapped where the man left him. He watched Quentin’s approach with wide eyes, thankful again that his face was hidden. Even if the mask did mimic his facial expressions, at least the man couldn’t see how dilated his pupils were, or how flushed his cheeks had become. _

_ He felt his throat closing up against the desire to beg for something that he absolutely shouldn’t beg for. Not with Beck, and certainly not like this. _

_ It didn’t matter. Quentin had his own plans that Peter was helpless to resist, an unwillingly eager participant. _

_ “So that’s it, huh? Innocent little neighborhood Spider-Man wants to be ruined by his big, bad villains. You let the other bad guys you run around stopping get this close?” _

_ As he closed the space between them, Peter licked his lips behind the mask, finding they had gone dry from the panting breaths he was drawing in. _

_ “You let any of the others pick you up and throw you around? Slam you into walls until it's all you can think about when you jack off at night?” Peter tried to shake his head but as he started the movement, one of those hands crept around his neck again. _

_ “No?” Beck pretended to think about that for a second. “So this is all just mine then? Get like this just for me? Only squirm like this under my hands?” _

_ At the reminder of how he was moving, Peter froze, stilling himself through sheer force of will, but just barely.  _

_ Every cell in his body was screaming out for something by that point. He needed more air in his lungs to clear his thoughts. He needed more space to move to get some distance between himself and his tormentor. He needed to melt into the wall in his shame at still being hard as a rock in his suit, yet somehow that only made him harder. _

_ But most of all he needed to be touched more to get a grip on his sanity again. _

_ The promise of more was intoxicating. More of what he needed the most. Peter had never been drunk; he’d been too young to have much opportunity before the spider bite and his increased metabolism had left him entirely unaffected by alcohol after.  _

_ It had never seemed all that desirable, to knowingly imbibe something that altered your brain so much, that made you so stupid. But if this was what it felt like, he could understand the appeal. _

_ A wonderful haze had descended over his mind, whether from the harsh touches and rough handling, the adrenaline, the lack of oxygen to his brain, or some combination of the three.  _

_ No longer able to help himself, Peter squirmed against the body in front of him, pushing against it with his hips in a poor imitation of trying to throw the man off. His hands clutched at the fingers wrapped around his throat, but there was no real intent to try free himself behind any of it. _

_ His struggling finally brought pressure and friction to his groin, the sensation bringing one thing into sharp focus: he needed to get off.  _

_ He had needed it for weeks before this, but now, it felt like a biological imperative. He thrust his hips forward, blindly seeking the stimulation he needed to reach his peak. Sounds spilled from his mouth, hoarse from the restricting hand still in place around his neck. _

_ Quentin was still talking above him. “Is this why you always let me go? You need me around to get your fix? Of course, you can’t let anyone else know how slutty Spider-Man really is, but me? You know I can keep your secrets.” _

_ Peter outright whimpered, the increased exhale making him even more dizzy thanks to his depleted supply of oxygen and inability to replace it.  _

_ He should have responded with something, anything. Pointing out that Beck just admitted that Peter ‘always let him go,’ just something. But no. He was too far gone for that kind of brain function. _

_ His hips were pumping forward in earnest now, chasing the release he knew wasn’t far off. Quentin was hard against his stomach; he could feel it with every move he made. Other than that, he seemed so unaffected by it all. It was infuriating that Peter couldn’t form a coherent thought, whereas Beck seemed to hardly feel any of it. _

_ He was, though. Quentin was having a hard time keeping his distance from the kid, watching him struggle and feeling the desperation of his slender hips surging against him. _

_ Peter had lost control of his strength at some point, and now Quentin’s suit was the only thing keeping them pinned in place against the wild bucking of his hips. He could tell then that the kid was taking the bait. _

_ He just needed to hook him and the rest would solve itself. _

_ “I knew you were tense the last couple of times we saw each other. I had no idea it was because of this though. Is that all you needed? A good hard fucking to make you nice and docile for me?” He took the opportunity to slam his hips harshly against Peter's. _

_ “Should’ve shoved you up against a wall and had my way with you years ago then.” _

_ Peter let out a shout, hips losing any sense of rhythm he had found. _

_ Quentin pulled away abruptly and released his grip around Peter’s throat, his larger body no longer holding the kid up  _

_ Peter sagged, sliding down the wall, unable to catch himself before hitting the floor with a gasp, jarred from the pleasant fog by the chill of the floor under him. He looked up at Quentin with uncertainty, trembling all over from how close he had been to reaching his climax and then being denied the relief. _

_ “No. I don’t think you’ve earned it today. You were here to stop me from getting something I want, after all. It’s only fair that you don’t get what you want either.” _

_ Peter’s head snapped down as if in shame. Fuck, this kid was delicious. Adjusting himself in his suit so he was a little more comfortable, Quentin prepared to leave. He was unhappy at the interruption to their little game as well, but he knew it was better this way. _

_ Better to interrupt a single round and be able to play the rest of the game, than to finish and be left wanting with no hope for more. _

_ Quentin was patient. He could wait. Peter was still young, and he was obviously in serious need of this. Quentin was sure he could outlast him on this, easy. _

_ He knelt down next to Peter, reached out a hand to grip along his jaw and press his head back against the wall. Turning Peter’s face one way and then the other, he imagined what he must look like under the mask now: cheeks red, lips swollen from biting, eyes shining with tears threatening to spill over. Mmm… _

_ “Besides, I want to see your face when I finally let you come. None of this stupid mask and costume stuff. Just you and me and the marks I’m going to leave all over your skin.” _

_ Standing up after releasing Peter took more effort than Quentin wanted to admit. Oh how he wanted to continue their interaction. But waiting would make it so much sweeter. _

_ He produced a card from somewhere in his suit and handed it to Peter. “Let me know when you want to finish this little ‘meeting.’” _

_ Quentin started heading towards the door, not waiting for Peter to say anything else. But just before walking out, he paused, turning back around. _

_ “Peter.” He said it without an ounce of question behind it, knowing the kid would respond to the tone. When he saw the eyes of the mask trained on him again, he stared pointedly, keeping his gaze compelling and firm. “You aren’t allowed to come.” _

_ He left no room for argument as he said it. Peter, not even close to recovered from his overwhelming state of arousal, whined at the commanding words that left no room for argument.  _

_ “You will listen to me, Peter. And if you don't, well…” Quentin let the threat trail off, knowing Peter’s brain could easily fill in the rest. He was a smart kid obviously, but very imaginative as well. That’s where the combination got really dangerous. _

_ Peter shuddered at some thought that caught his attention, some picture Quentin’s words had painted in his hormone-addled mind.  _

_ “See you again soon, kid. One way or another…” _

And with that he had left, Peter still a quivering mess on the floor, hard and aching and more desperate than he had ever dreamed was possible. 

That had been almost two weeks ago.

Peter had left the building after recovering himself a bit and tried to forget about the encounter. That had worked for a while (four days) but where he had been unfocused before, now he was hyper focused on every little thing.

He got home that night and went straight to bed. He didn’t touch himself. He told himself it was because he didn’t want it to be because of Quentin Beck.

He went to class the next day, then his internship after, then out for a quick patrol when he was done. Nothing needing his attention popped up that night, and by the time he got home he was exhausted and couldn’t have stayed awake if he tried. He didn’t touch himself that day either.

The next day was the same. Class, then internship, then patrol. He hadn’t planned on going out that night, but since nothing had happened the night before he figured there was bound to be something that he could help with, so he pulled on his suit before swinging off.

He stopped a thief that had stolen a purse by running off of a bus so the woman on the bus couldn’t follow him. Peter returned the bag to her at their next stop because nothing messes with the bus schedule. Or so said the bus driver, meaning only whenever it was convenient for them.

He got home after stopping a creepy guy from following a young girl and thought about touching himself again, but again he told himself it would be because of Beck and abstained.

The third day Peter didn’t have his internship after class so he hung out with Ned and MJ instead. He blew off patrolling –not that anyone knew his schedule but him anyway – and they stayed up super late eating junk food, all passing out in the living room at an unhealthy hour.

The fourth day, after Ned and MJ left, was more difficult. Without the distraction of classes or work at his internship, and with nobody around to make him focus on other things, Peter’s mind fixated on one thing: Quentin Beck.

He ate and showered and played around with some new tech for his suit, then he ate again, all the while his eyes drifting to the clock every few minutes. When he wasn’t looking at the clock, he was remembering little snippets of their interaction. 

The hand around his throat, his breathing thin and inconsistent. The hand holding his jaw with his head pressed back hard into the brick wall. That body in front of him, muscles and flesh that had been unyielding against even his super strength, thanks to that amazing suit tech.

The hardness he could feel against his belly with every move he made.

The thigh Quentin had shoved between his legs, aiding Peter’s movements. All of it working towards one end.

The only end he had ever remembered wanting that badly. 

The one he had been so close to, just to be denied right before he got to it.

That was how the next seven days passed as well. One week. Seven whole days where he couldn’t focus on anything but the thing that would give him back the  _ ability _ to focus.

Every night after he was in bed, he laid on his side and stared at the card he hadn’t managed to lose yet.

There was a phone number and an address on it. There was no name. Peter knew the area that the address was located. It was on one of his regular patrol routes. 

He hadn’t taken that route in a while though. If anyone had asked, he would say he just chose them at random but he had a pattern he usually liked to follow. He refused to acknowledge the real reason he hadn't been that way since he was given the card.

Just another coincidence, along with  _ why he still hadn’t touched himself. _

He started losing focus again. That was what did it. The overwhelming sharpness faded back to the foggy ‘can’t be bothered’ feeling he had before That Day.

That night after his patrol, he laid down in bed and decided enough was enough. He had been half hard at the slightest trigger since That Day, so it took no time to get himself ready. He was still a teenager after all, there were very few times he wasn’t ready to go.

Trying very hard to keep his mind blank, Peter ran his hand down his body. He stroked over his abdomen, feeling the muscles tense at the feather light touch. Continuing down, he avoided his cock for a while, scratching over the sensitive vee of his hips, the area right above his cock, down the insides of his thighs. 

He usually didn’t spend much time on things like teasing himself, but he had a feeling he was going to need this to be the mother of all orgasms to get whatever curse Beck had put on him out of his system.

So, a little bigger buildup it was then.

Dragging his fingers through his hair and then down his neck, his other hand scraped over a nipple and he hissed. The hand that had been scratching at his thighs he snuck down the join of his hip and pressed his palm down tight on his balls. 

Peter was insanely sensitive and his hips jerked at the sensation. He was already dripping precome just from the little stimulation he had given himself. Looking down to watch as he worked himself instead of keeping his eyes clenched shut, he gathered the clear fluid with his hand and spread it down his length.

His eyes snapped shut again at the sensation. He spent a moment rocking into his hand, cock dragging against his palm, slicking it further with the steadily leaking precome.

Just as he felt his orgasm start to build, he was setting a rough pace for himself, when all of a sudden, that voice sounded in his head.

_ “You aren’t allowed to come.” _

The memory had Peter’s balls tightening, like even the memory of the commanding presence was enough to get him to come. But for some reason that Peter didn’t really understand, he clenched his hand down around himself to cut off that impending orgasm.

He whined, high and breathy, hips jerking wildly at being denied again. 

Peter took a moment to calm himself down and then attempted to go to sleep. He lay there awake, sleep evading him for long enough that he decided to get up and go out patrolling.

He had already gone out tonight, but if he was going to be awake and all hyped up anyway, he may as well put that excess energy to good use.

Looking at the card again before dragging himself out of bed, he chose his path again.

It was not anywhere near that address.

Two more nights passed of him attempting unsuccessfully to jerk off in his bed after an exhausting day. After being unable to even get close before that voice that sounded suspiciously like Quentin Beck came out of nowhere to remind him what had passed between them, Peter had had enough.

He was still a teenager, he had needs. And not even his specific needs which were less understandable, just the basic ones. He needed to come and he needed to do so now.

Fortunately, that need was overpowering everything else so he was able to function better now than he had been. 

He had the worst case of blue balls he could imagine. He was so desperate, any kind of stimulation turned him on. Even his suit rubbing him the wrong way was enough to make him hard.

It was like he was 13 all over again, and that was an age he had no desire to repeat.

After the third time HIS OWN BRAIN cut off his frantic ‘chase the orgasm’ routine, his eyes darted directly for the card still residing on his bedside table, and he made a decision.

He was going to go find the address.

It may very well be a trap. It could be something truly terrible, but he was through with this whole voodoo thing he had apparently found himself mixed up in. He was going to get whatever this was worked through before it drove him officially insane.

Peter thought about grabbing the card before leaving, but really, he had been staring at it for the better part of two weeks; all of the information on it was already stored in his brain. It was practically etched in stone in his memory by this point.

Deciding to leave it where it was, as if touching it again would make the whole thing more shameful, Peter showered and got dressed in his regular clothes. 

He thought about swinging his way there as Spider-Man, but that would get him there too quickly.

He definitely needed the time it would take him to walk all the way there to make sure he wanted to go through with whatever this was.

And besides, Beck had said that the next time he didn’t want to have to deal with the mask. 

That he would rather see Peter’s face for the experience.

Not that Peter would admit to that being a factor in making his decision, because it wasn’t. It was just a coincidental bonus that he would be showing up exactly the way the other man admitted to wanting him.

As he walked, he thought about all the ways this could go so horribly wrong. Not that he had thought of much else in the last 24 hours. He had spent the past day trying to convince himself it wasn’t worth risking.

His damned teenage hormones, however, had a different opinion.

The longer he walked, the more he thought about how things could go, the more tense and excited he got. Tense because one way or the other, he would finally be free of whatever Quentin Beck had done to mess with him.

Excited because the mere thought of seeing the man again was too enticing to ignore.

By the time he was halfway there, he was doing everything in his power to keep from becoming physically aroused. Yes, the man already knew that Peter was interested and would know exactly why Peter had shown up at the address.

That didn’t mean he wanted to walk around advertising the fact.

Finally approaching the address, he looked cautiously over the seemingly normal apartment building. Peter wasn’t sure what he was walking into with this, but there was a family of what Peter assumed was a mom and two kids coming out the door, so it must have been safe enough.

It definitely wasn’t the abandoned, falling apart building of their last meeting.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Peter didn’t stop to think anymore. He just walked straight in through the doors.

He found himself in a lobby of sorts. It was small but welcoming, with a lady behind a window in an office type room, sitting at a desk with a kind smile. A doorlady or office manager of some sort? Peter wasn’t sure. This kind of building was not the kind he had ever lived in and it left Peter feeling a little out of his depth.

To the left were rows of mailboxes and to the right was a door to the stairs as well as an elevator. Peter realized that he had no idea where he was going from there. This was as far as his plan got him.

The woman was still smiling at him expectantly, so Peter rather shyly approached.

“What can I help you with, hun? You look a little lost.”

“Hi, yeah. Sorry. Is there maybe a directory for the residents that live here or something? I was trying to meet with someone, but I guess they only gave me the building address, not an apartment number or anything.”

It was very hard for Peter to get the words out without tripping over them or blushing as he once again remembered exactly how he had been given the address and why.

“Can I ask who you’re looking for? And your first and last name, please.” The lady was grabbing out a binder as she asked.

Damn. Did he assume this was Quentin’s personal residence and he had used his own name? Or did he think he might be keeping it under a fake name to stay off the radar?

No, Quentin wanted him to come find him, there was no way he would make it that hard for him.  _ Here goes _ .

“Um, I think the apartment would be under Quentin Beck?” He tried to keep his voice as steady as possible. He didn’t want to sound suspicious. Then he might never get where he needed to be.

“And your name?” The lady politely reminded him. He was thankful she didn’t seem to mind his flustered manner.

“Oh, right. Yeah, sorry. My name is Peter. Parker. Peter Parker.”

_ Damnit, Parker, way to sound like  _ **_you’re_ ** _ using a fake name! _

“Yes, I’ve got your name right here. Looks like he added you to his list about... two weeks ago.” 

She followed a line of text on the page across to a phone number, then picked up the phone and dialed.

Peter heard the ringing but only because of his advanced hearing. He heard the line pick up, a soft, “Hello,” sending his heart racing again.

“Mr. Beck?” At the sound confirming it was, in fact, Quentin, the nice woman informed him, “You have a Peter Parker here to see you. He is on your list, should I send him up?”

Peter turned away, hoping not to hear the answer. He didn’t want to know if the tone was smug or if it was displeased, or, maybe especially, if it was  _ excited _ . None of those would be good for his nerves, so not hearing was definitely the best alternative.

“Thank  _ you _ , sir. I’ll send him right up.”

The woman’s inflection on the word ‘you’ implied that Quentin had thanked her, so the news that Peter had shown up at last must not have been too badly received.

Peter still wasn’t sure if that was better or worse than the man being disgusted.

After hanging up the phone, the woman gave Peter the apartment number, telling him which floor and which side of the hall it was on and any directions he would need to get there.

Thanking the woman profusely, perhaps to stall for even a few seconds, Peter opted to take the stairs. He wanted another moment to settle his nerves.

While Peter usually took stairs a couple at a time, these he made sure to step on every one, just to make himself concentrate and get a better handle on himself before seeing the man. He would already be at a disadvantage because Quentin would be in what was presumably his own home. Peter needed to stay as sharp as he could for as long as he could.

He had no doubt it would take the other man seconds flat to have him unfocused again if he wanted to, just like last time.

That thought sent a thrill up Peter’s spine. The fear that had been keeping his arousal at bay since he stepped into the apartment building suddenly dissipated, replaced by excitement and no small amount of impatience.

He was so ready for this to be over, yet he was absolutely not ready for what was about to happen.

Exiting the stairwell and wandering his way over to the door that was his destination took hours, but also no time at all. Sooner than he would have liked, he found himself face to face with a door, and there, just to the side, was the number he had been given.

Oh shit, he thought, as now he had to decide what to do. Well, knock on the door obviously. But after that. How did he do this? What even was ‘this?’

Peter was a hero, showing up to his enemy’s apartment, for what? To have the older man fuck him silly, so he could have his life back? To demand that Quentin let him orgasm so he could do it for himself again? What was the actual purpose behind this visit?

Knocking before his brain gave his hand permission, he jumped at the sound of his own knuckles against the wood. Well, this was off to a great start.

He shook his head and tried to arrange his face into some kind of polite smile. Just because this was likely a trap didn’t mean it was for sure. And if it wasn’t, he really shouldn’t show up to someone’s home looking ready to fight.

May raised him better than that, after all. If he needed to, he could still kick the other man’s ass, even after being polite.

It took less than five seconds for the door to swing open, but in those seconds Peter went from anxious, to scared, to excited, all the way back to anxious several times, mood switching with each beat of his racing heart.

When the door did finally swing open, he was greeted with quite the sight. Quentin Beck, tall and muscley and dreamy as ever, except normally he only saw the man in his Mysterio get up.

Quentin Beck in his full Mysterio costume was quite the sight.

Quentin Beck in jeans and a button front shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows was an entirely different thing.

The sight of Mysterio sent Peter’s nerves racing. 

The sight of Quentin Beck like this made everything inside Peter clench in anticipation.

Anticipation of what, he still had no idea. But he decided whatever it was, he was definitely ready for it.

After the initial shock of seeing the man had worn off, Peter realized Quentin had stepped back and was waiting for Peter to make his way inside the apartment. Stepping forward took effort, even as awkwardly as he did it. As he passed Quentin, the man seemed to lean forward into his space just a fraction more than he really needed to in order to close the door.

Peter stood motionless in the entryway. He wasn’t really sure where to go, so he figured he would just wait for the man to move past him, but it never happened.

Peter turned around and was struck by the image of Quentin leaning back against the door, one leg crossed in front of the other, one hand in his pocket, the other still resting on the door handle. And, oh, the look on his face.

He looked pretty damn pleased if Peter had to put a name to it. Not quite smug, but like he had a plan and it had panned out exactly the way he wanted it to.

Which, duh, of course that was exactly what had happened. Peter cursed the other man’s ability to read him. It had always been that way between the two. Quentin could read exactly what Peter needed to hear in order to manipulate him.

It wasn’t entirely unfair though. Peter had always had a better grasp of who Quentin was and what he was after than anyone else seemed to. That’s why the rest of the hero community collectively left Peter to deal with him.

That and he really wasn’t doing much damage; his villain legacy was mostly just being a nuisance to everyone and everything. Perfect target for a kid still working his way through school. Keep the kid occupied but not out of his league, and mostly out of danger.

Peter wondered what they would think about this newest development. Probably nothing good. Though Peter wouldn’t blame them for that, as he wasn’t quite sure what to make of it himself.

When Quentin pulled his hand from his pocket to cross his arm over his chest, other arm propped up with his chin resting in his hand, one finger pressed to his lips like he was appraising him, Peter felt sure this had been a mistake. That look was one he had seen before. It was one he instinctually recognized as “hungry.”

Peter swallowed, extremely uncertain how that look made him feel. Then the grin was back. Still not quite smug, but definitely pleased with himself.

“You know, I’m impressed, Peter.” The words seemed foreign coming from the other man. At least in any way other than mocking. But the look on his face seemed genuine which was very confusing to Peter.

He must have had a very dubious look on his face because Quentin let out a laugh and shook his head, shrugging away from the door frame at last. He tucked both hands into his front pockets, raising his shoulders in a show of innocence. “Honest! I had it figured one of two ways.”

The man took another step towards Peter. Watching his progress forward had become so mesmerizing that he forgot to be nervous about what would happen when he finally reached him.

“See, to begin with,“ Quentin continued, pausing in his approach, “I figured you would only last a couple of days at most. After all, you’re still a teenager.” Squinting his eyes just a bit, he stopped to make sure. “You are still a teenager, right?”

The question was so out of character for the man that Peter actually scoffed, temporarily forgetting everything but the fact that Quentin Beck, Know-It-All Supreme, was acting as if he didn’t know Peter’s exact birthdate, down to the hour.

“Like you don’t know.” Okay, so maybe Peter was still affected a little bit by the man’s presence. Still, he had managed a comeback, no matter how bad it was.

A glint appeared in Quentin’s eyes at the attitude in Peter’s voice. Yes, here was his way in. Good. He had wondered how it was gonna go, setting the kid at ease enough to start.

He chose to ignore Peter’s words for the moment. “But then you didn’t show up. I waited about a week and still nothing. So then I decided you probably thought you were too smart to come here.” Smiling at Peter, he cocked his head to the side, inspecting him.

“And yet, here you are. So, you obviously decided you wanted something I was offering. Which brings me to my first question for you.” He paused, probably just for dramatic effect, in true Quentin Beck fashion. “What finally made you come?”

Peter wasn’t sure how to answer that question. What he found coming out of his mouth instead of an answer was, “How do you know I want anything from you? I could be here to- to-,” he licked his lips to try and figure out what he was going to say next. Finally, he settled on, “We are enemies, you know. I could be here because of that. As Spider-Man.”

Quentin pretended to think about that for a moment before taking two large steps forward into Peter’s personal space. Peter was forced to tilt his head back a bit to maintain eye contact.

“If that were the case,” Quentin raised a hand and tugged on the zipper of Peter’s hoodie. “Then I think you might have come dressed a bit differently. Am I right? Or is it just a coincidence you came to me with nothing over your face?”

Quentin leaned further into Peter’s space. He could feel the heat coming off the man’s body now. “Just a coincidence that you came to me, just the way I asked you to?”

Peter shuddered at the fact Quentin had remembered and connected Peter’s casual dress to the desire he had expressed during their last encounter.

“That’s what I thought. So let me ask again. What finally made you come to me, Peter?”

Something in Quentin’s voice this time made Peter want to answer. He still had no idea what the answer should be though. He had been lying to himself so intensely that he wasn’t even sure what was true about the whole situation.

Peter made a distressed sound instead of the noncommittal one he was aiming for. He felt his cheeks flush and looked down, which ended up being a mistake.

Quentin’s eyes followed the movement, noticeably encouraged by Peter’s obvious show of desire. What was more encouraging was the sight both sets of eyes landed on.

The bulge in Peter’s jeans was even more encouragement for Quentin. He cooed at Peter as the kid was suddenly refusing to so much as try to meet his eyes. “Aw, is that it? You listened to me, didn’t you? Trying to be a good boy for me?”

Peter felt shame at the fact that, yes, he had listened. Much as he wanted to protest, he couldn’t because it was true. The man would see right through him.

He paused before giving a shaky nod. Then after another moment of thought, he shook his head slowly. Quentin's head tilted, showing his confusion.

“No?” Peter shook his head more quickly but no bigger than the first time. “No what, kid? You didn’t listen to me?” Peter shook his head again, just the once. “You weren’t trying to be a good boy for me?”

Peter’s shoulders hunched, making him look sheepish and younger than Quentin knew him to be. It was amazing how much Quentin’s presence changed Peter’s behavior. He had no intention of coming into this place and being shy or timid. It was ridiculous. 

But wasn’t that exactly why he was here in the first place? Because of that exact effect that he had never quite experienced before, yet somehow was already hooked on?

“You weren’t trying to be good for me. What were you doing then, Peter?” Peter still refused to look up from the corner of the entryway his eyes had instinctually darted for.

Quentin brought his hand up under Peter’s chin, not pushing, just resting there. He did push with his words, however. “Peter. Look at me.”

And boy, did he want to. Flicking his eyes up for a millisecond at a time, he tried, he really did. Eventually, Quentin decided to stop waiting and squeezed Peter’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, just hard enough to have a grip and shove Peter’s head up a fraction.

Peter followed the hand directing his head and his eyes settled on Quentin’s. They looked a bit unfocused but he was clearly still alert. Quentin stated again, more forcefully this time, “Tell me what you were doing then. If you weren’t being good for me. What were you doing, Peter?”

Peter let out a breath as the desire to obey shook him to his core. “I tried to- but I couldn’t. Cause you... your voice. You- you wouldn’t let me…”

He trailed off, knowing he wasn’t making much sense. He would just have to hope that the other man would magically know what he meant, the same way he tended to throughout their entire acquaintance. It must not have been too much to ask because Quentin released Peter’s chin like he had shocked him.

And he had been shocked. Because if he understood correctly, and he had only given one instruction to Peter the last time they saw each other, Peter had just said that he hadn’t been able to touch himself successfully  _ because of Quentin.  _ Not because he had consciously wanted to listen to him, but because he had been  _ unable not to _ .

If there was one thing that made Quentin feel powerful, it was knowing that someone had been unable to disobey him even though they had tried. The thought was enough to get him half hard himself.

Peter had stumbled back a half step at being so abruptly let go of. He seemed even more unsure, still standing in the hall into the apartment.

“Say that again.”

Peter looked almost fearful. Quentin would think he was coming on too harsh, but Peter was still noticeably hard. He decided he could afford to push a bit more.

“Peter.” That got the boy to stand up a bit straighter. “Say that again. Now.”

He watched Peter swallow, throat bobbing with the effort it took. “I tried to- to, you know. And I-,”

“Tried to what, Peter?”

Peter’s eyes bulged a bit at the prospect of having to say what he had done. He wasn’t a shy kid necessarily, but this kind of thing was all new to him and this was a fully fledged adult he was talking with. He felt remarkably juvenile in the whole thing.

“I need to know what you did. You were given one very specific instruction, do you remember?” Quentin paused to let Peter process. “I need to know if you listened to me or not, Peter.”

Peter gulped again. He licked his lips before answering, sensing something from Quentin that was making him nervous. Good. That would make everything much better for their evening plans.

“I tried to...like, do stuff myself, you know?” He appeared to be wracking his brain for other ways to say things that explained his answer without using the actual terminology for what he had done. “Like, when I was ‘excited,’ you know, and couldn’t make it...couldn't make it stop?”

He looked like he was barely stopping himself from fidgeting. His skin was flushed with either embarrassment or arousal all the way from his hairline down to his collarbone, which was left barely exposed under his sweatshirt.

Oh, did Quentin enjoy the redness on Peter’s fair skin. He wondered what bruises would look like. They wouldn’t last long, but that just made it better. A new canvas, ready as soon as he finished with the old one.

But he was getting ahead of himself. He was still waiting for Peter to explain that he had tried jacking off without Quentin and couldn’t make it satisfying enough to follow through with it.

“Sweetheart, you can do better than that. You’re a genius, Peter. Use your big boy words for me.”

Peter bit his lip to stifle the whimper he felt forming. He was pretty sure he had just been praised and scolded in the same breath and, for some reason, he felt his cock spasm in his pants. They had been uncomfortably tight from that first bit of physical contact and it didn’t show any signs of easing up any time soon.

“I...I got hard.” Quentin nodded, waiting for him to continue. “Like, a lot. And it kept happening. And I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“And why is that, Peter?” Quentin pressed.

“Because everytime I tried I...heard you?” Peter's face took on a look of shame, brow scrunched, lips pressed together tightly. His fingers were picking at the fraying edge of his sweatshirt pocket. 

Quentin had to suppress the smirk trying to take over his face. “Sorry, kid. You lost me. What do you mean by ‘you heard me?’” He raised his hand back to his face, crossing his other arm over his waist to support it in case he lost the perfect control he had over his facial expression.

He absolutely knew what Peter meant but he was enjoying this far too much to let him get away without explaining it properly.

“So, you got hard. And probably pretty desperate, right? Cause you’re still just a teenager. After I left, you must’ve been pretty worked up. So, that night? What did you do?”

Peter started shaking his head as soon as Quentin said ‘that night.’ “No, I couldn’t do anything that night. I was- it was like I was drunk? That must be what it feels like to be drunk, everything was just, so much. Almost like when I first got the bite.”

He shook his head to clear it of the memory as Quentin asked, “So, the next night then? When you had recovered some?”

“No.” The look of shame was back on Peter’s face. No, maybe this one was guilt. They were very closely related, hard to tell apart sometimes. “No, not that night either. Not for, not for a while…”

“Why not?” Quentin asked. Or rather, demanded. Because everything he had asked of Peter so far had been less of a request and more of a demand. When he was like this, he seemed to respond much better to commands anyway.

Quentin could work with that.

“Because I couldn’t- I couldn’t do it and not think about you!” Peter declared in a burst of defiance. He seemed unhappy at having to admit to that. “I couldn’t think about anything but you when I felt like, well, like  _ that. _ And I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to think about anything from that night. It seemed just, wrong, I guess.”

“There it is. So, you were thinking about me though? Even though you didn’t want to. Is that why you didn’t come to me then? You wanted to but you didn’t  _ want _ to want to?”

Peter, whose eyes had been busy darting anywhere but at Quentin during this process, finally returned to the man as he inched towards Peter again.

“Yeah.” Peter licked his lips again. Quentin was very distracted by that tongue, pink against his lips, leaving a sheen behind. How good they would look swollen and red from Quentin’s own teeth and lips. “I don’t know what that, you know, what it was. But it wasn’t good, right? It wasn’t how I should have responded.”

“It was fine.” It was perfectly natural for how Peter was, but they could get into that another time. Back to what Quentin had been digging for. “I still haven’t heard about you not being good for me, Peter.”

Somehow Quentin’s words had twisted to sound more like Peter had been bad than when he first said them. It made something twinge in his gut. He didn’t like that those words, ‘good’ and ‘bad’ could be used so efficiently against him.

“Well, it was the last couple days. Everything was getting- it was all getting hard to care about, like, it was hard to follow? Which is how it was before. You know, before you gave me like, hyperfocus somehow?” Peter looked confused as he was trying to explain. Quentin couldn’t wait to sink his claws into this innocent kid, he was so delicious.

“So, I tried. To like, do things? I tried to make myself... come. With my hand. I tried to- do that, and I got close but I couldn’t... come. Because you said... and I could hear you saying it in my head and it stopped me and I couldn’t do it.”

This was just too good, Quentin could barely stand it. “What did I say, baby?”

Peter took in a sharp inhale of breath at the endearment, but Quentin pressed on. “Peter, come on. Tell me what I said that made you stop.”

“You said- you told me not to. That I couldn’t until…” Peter trailed off, unsure if he wanted to finish the sentence because it sounded so insecure in his head. 

To be fair, he was, but he didn’t want to announce that to anyone. Especially not Quentin Beck himself.

“Until?” Quentin urged. He was nearly touching Peter at this point, but he would hold off until he heard the words from Peter’s mouth.

“Until… I saw you. Again.” If possible, his face got even redder. It was like he was admitting to wanting it, having to say it out loud like that. It felt good, even though he felt very vulnerable at the confession.

“And?” At Peter’s confused look, Quentin clarified. “Did you?” 

“I- no! No, I didn’t. I couldn’t, it wasn’t- you weren’t- no. No, sir.”

The jolt of arousal that shot up Quentin’s spine was as unexpected as Peter using the word ‘sir’ but neither was unwelcome.

“That sounds a lot like you did listen to me, Peter. Better than I expected. I know how... hard it is, being a teenager with no real release for these kinds of urges.” Quentin had stepped into Peter’s space again, the boy barely seeming to register the change. “‘Cause these aren’t the regular urges, are they?”

Peter seemed scared for a moment before Quentin continued, running his hand up the back of Peter’s arm. “The urge to own or be owned by someone. To be so in control or so vulnerable it eclipses everything else in your life. To be able to let go of the real stuff for a while and have someone else take priority like that.”

He was leaning closer with every word, closing the distance between their faces. When he was close enough, Quentin’s eyes dropped to Peter’s lips. “Does that sound like what happened to you?”

Peter nodded, breathless and helpless to give any more intelligent response.

“And does that sound like something you want me to take care of for you, Peter?” He brought his other hand up, snaking it around Peter’s waist, pulling him into his larger body slowly, giving him time to back out.

‘Cause once Quentin started on him, there would be very little time for Peter to change his mind. He needed to be sure  _ right now _ .

Peter nodded again. Quentin shook his head, forehead practically touching Peter’s now. “Remember what I said, Peter? You’ve gotta use those big boy words.”

Peter whined, then softly and eagerly, Quentin heard, “Yes. Please.”

And that was all it took. Quentin closed the distance and covered Peter’s lips with his own.

The kiss started out softly because Quentin was still a decent person, even if his morals didn’t all point due North. When Peter let his mouth fall open on a gasp, Quentin ran his tongue along his bottom lip, sensing Peter quivering against his chest, his arms coming up to clutch at Quentin’s shoulders like he needed an anchor.

Then he was absolutely devouring Peter’s mouth.

He knew that Peter had very little experience with this kind of thing. At least, he assumed the kid hadn’t experienced much. He just seemed too... innocent.

Quentin tried to keep that in mind for all of five seconds before he was licking into Peter’s mouth, tongue claiming the new area, pulling Peter in even more. Peter shuddered at the possessiveness in that kiss.

Of all the ways Peter thought this would go, possessiveness wasn’t one of the things he had come up with. Cruel, cold, manipulative maybe, were the adjectives he would have assigned the interaction prior to entering the room.

Now it just felt like he was- like he was wanted. And the thought blew his mind. Quentin had  _ waited _ for him to admit he wanted this.

Well, technically he had  _ forced  _ Peter to admit it, but that was only because Peter wouldn’t even admit it to himself. If he had, it would have been an even softer process.

Softer, because the way Quentin was clutching him to his chest with one arm wrapped around his entire waist and the other on his face and neck, tilting his head so he was in the best position possible for Quentin to  _ own him _ was nothing near the harsh touches he had been expecting.

He had been expecting bruises. Scratches and hand prints and things he would have to hide from everyone for the next day or so until his healing took care of the problem. He hadn't been looking forward to the hiding it part of the experience but he had kinda liked the thought of just being destroyed by this man now being so careful to let Peter catch up.

After ensuring he had access to every part of Peter that was available to him at the moment, Quentin moved his hand from Peter’s face and brought it up to where one of Peter’s hands was still glued to his shoulder.

He took Peter’s hand and moved it up and back, resting it on his neck, high enough up that he could feel the little hairs at the nape. Switching hands, so he could keep Peter pressed against his body from chest to groin, he moved Peter’s other hand alongside the first then pulled away from the kiss.

He could feel Peter unable to stop himself from rutting against the thigh he had slotted between Peter’s legs in the process of fitting them together. It was an amazing feeling that Quentin never would have thought he would enjoy as much as he did.

Turned out there really was nothing Peter could do that would make this a bad experience for him.

Peter tried to chase after his lips as they pulled back, unsure what else to do, but knowing he didn’t want to lose any bit of connection with the man. 

Quentin watched, amused as Peter’s eyes finally opened to look at him in a dazed sort of confusion. Quentin pressed in for another kiss, just enough to steal Peter’s breath again, before dropping down to touch his lips just under his ear. 

Peter let out a hoarse sound of protest at the sudden sensation on such a sensitive area. Quentin smirked against his skin, letting his teeth drag over the tendon there, just behind Peter’s jaw. He let them scrape the surface for a moment before digging in and biting. 

He applied more pressure than he would normally. He had seen the kid get hit by a train and be physically fit enough to take on a team of drones before most people would have died of the injuries he sustained.

Peter shouted as he felt the teeth sink into his skin. Maybe there would be some of those things he had initially imagined. It certainly wasn’t going to be disappointing, that was for sure.

Then his thoughts lost most sense and he just  _ felt _ .

His hands, which he had been too scared to move, caught on Quentin’s hair, wrapping the strands in his fingers and clamping down, much the way Quentin was still doing to his neck. He felt the noise Quentin released against his skin and the rhythm of his hips was interrupted by the harsh thrust forward the man gave.

Oh god, Peter wanted to feel more of that. The warmth of Quentin through his jeans held so much promise, the shape of his cock, assuring Peter he wasn’t alone in how affected he was.

He couldn’t wait for more. He needed it so badly, he couldn’t even think. Just ‘Quentin’ and ‘more’ and ‘now.’ Those were the only words that held meaning as Quentin moved on to another spot on his neck and caught Peter’s hips in his grip, long fingers wrapping around the hip bones and squeezing until they ached in the most delicious way.

Peter was having problems stopping the sounds from escaping, even with his bottom lip caught tight between his teeth. Quentin paused his work on Peter’s neck to glance up at the muffled sound. 

Pulling back from Peter, he put on a serious expression. When Peter realized he had stopped, he eventually forced his eyes to look at Quentin, though he couldn’t stop the pulsing of his hips against Quentin’s thigh. The strokes got smaller and less intentional, more reflexive, but they refused to cease entirely.

Quentin stopped all movement. He was forced to recognize that he had been moving steadily against the boy in his arms, holding him by his hips to help them move together, rather than fighting against each other.

The sound that came from Peter’s mouth next was one of question. No doubt he couldn’t find the words to ask, so lost to the sensations he was feeling.

Quentin took pity on him for a moment. The time he would be doing that was limited, because once he got what he wanted from the boy, there would be no more going easy.

Using his thumb to pull Peter’s lip out from his teeth, he said firmly, “Those are my noises, sweetheart. I earned those. Don’t you dare try to keep those from me.”

Peter’s breathing stopped entirely at that. He stared up at Quentin like he was desperate to do anything to please the other man. Quentin thought it was possible that was exactly the case.

As he continued tugging at Peter’s lip, the kid’s tongue darted out to touch Quentin’s thumb. The jolt he felt from the warm, wet tip of Peter’s tongue was unexpected. It was the kind of thing you read about but didn’t actually exist. 

Except that apparently it did, and Quentin very much just felt the electric pulse the action had sent through him. Looking into Peter’s wide eyes, he knew it wasn’t meant to get any kind of reaction from him. He was just acting on instinct.

_ Good instincts, kid _ . Quentin pushed his thumb forward and pressed it just inside Peter’s mouth. This time he let Peter close his lips when he tried. It wasn’t to stifle more sounds of pleasure, so he would allow it.

Once his lips closed, Peter sucked. His tongue wrapped around the thumb pressed there and the suction pulled just right. Quentin’s thumb went tingly from the sensation, his whole body feeling it. He clutched Peter tighter to him in response and Peter moaned.

His mouth may have been closed but Quentin still got the full effect of the sound he caused, feeling the vibrations in his thumb as Peter sucked.

“There you go, now you’re getting it. Those sounds are mine. I want them all, just like that.” Quentin rocked forward, giving Peter more friction like he needed. Peter lost all control then, hips trying to speed him toward the orgasm Quentin had unintentionally-on purpose been preventing Peter from experiencing.

Quentin moved his hand down from Peter’s hip to cup his ass, a perfect swell in his jeans. Grabbing a handful and guiding Peter against him that way gave him an all new angle. His fingers dug into the denim in a way that made him wish it wasn’t there. His fingers itched to make contact with bare skin, to be able to spread Peter open and feel his heat.

Patience. He just had to be patient. That was all part of his plan.

First, he had a job to do. He knew how cruel it had been to leave Peter hanging for as long as he had. Not that the length of time had been his choice. If he had chosen, Peter would have been here the very next night, begging for release.

But this would make it all the better. Impatient as Quentin was, he was a firm believer in delayed gratification making everything more meaningful, more intense.

He could see the proof of that in Peter’s hips still struggling to stutter forward, grinding what, by now, must be his painful erection against Quentin. He let out a strained sound, probably because Quentin wasn’t helping him out anymore. He hadn’t resumed the roll of his hips that had been so effective at building towards Peter’s pleasure.

“What’s that, Peter?” Quentin pulled his wet thumb out from Peter’s lips, trail of saliva following along behind. “Getting desperate, are you? Thought you were desperate before, but that was nothing compared to now, was it?” 

Using that same thumb, he dragged it across Peter’s lips, down his chin and back along his jaw, watching as it left a trail of slickness behind.

Peter shook his head, forcing his hips forward with as much movement as he could manage in the limited space between himself and Quentin. It wasn’t enough. It was so close, but just barely not enough.

Quentin’s hand repositioned from Peter’s ass to his hip, other hand dragging the shirt there up high enough for his fingers to dip below the waistband of Peter’s underwear. 

They didn’t stop there. Once he felt the skin there, Quentin had no intention of stopping. He palmed the skin of Peter’s ass, light touches that acquainted him with the area before gripping tight and kneading the muscle there.

The action made Peter shout at how much more stimulation he was able to get with Quentin helping to work his hips forward again. He really wanted something more, Quentin could tell from how he was clutching at him, one hand still tangled in his hair, the other scrabbling at his back trying to find something to ground him from the intensity of his need.

Quentin moved his hand down far enough he could run a finger between Peter’s cheeks, dipping low enough to press against his hole. Peter whined again and it sounded strangled this time. His hips were moving in tiny, desperate twitching motions. 

“Aw, are you getting all worked up, kiddo?” Quentin teased verbally, matching the teasing presses to his ass. Just enough pressure to open him up, nothing that would be remotely satisfying. “You sound a little choked up. Are you that desperate already? Gonna cry for me before you’ve even got your clothes off?”

Peter was beyond being ashamed, so instead the words just served as more incentive to chase his orgasm. He nodded frantically; he had been feeling the frustrated tears behind his eyelids since the last time he closed his eyes. He refused to let them fall but he didn’t think he would have control over it for much longer. He was long past the point of being in control of his own body.

Fortunately, Quentin Beck was great at taking control. He was still helping Peter to work himself against him, not moving against Peter anymore but still providing him with the friction he craved so badly. His large hands had the perfect grip, one on his hip bone and the other on the cheek of his ass, holding so that one finger could continue to press between his cheeks in a place Peter suddenly really wanted him to explore further.

He just needed more. More of the man's hands on his skin, digging into his flesh, more motion to get stimulation to his painful erection after so long of desperately needing release, more of Quentin’s words that told him no matter what the actual words said, that he could let go and just worry about this and nothing else. Just feel, because that was all Quentin wanted him to do.

Finally, the tears spilled over. He couldn’t help it, and a ragged sob escaped along with it. It didn’t matter anymore, Quentin already knew. He had said it and it didn’t seem to displease him a bit.

In fact, when the sound left Peter’s throat, he thought he heard an answering groan and those perfect hands squeezed tighter, pressed deeper. Peter was so far gone he couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he even felt Quentin’s cock twitch against his stomach where they were pressed together so tightly.

Quentin looked down at the boy in his arms, tears sliding down his cheeks, flushed from exertion, lips bitten a beautiful red, swollen from his own teeth as well as from Quentin. He had marks along his neck that were already fading from the bright color they were when Quentin had left them.

Huh, he’d have to work on how harsh to go to make them last a bit longer. Then again, blank canvas to try again soon. Just a little longer…

“God, you look so fucking ruined. You’re all red and marked up, it’s worse than when we fight. And oh man, do I like these noises better.” Quentin ran his nose along Peter’s neck, biting his earlobe when he got to it. Peter shouted again. “Yeah, just like that. So needy.”

The whimpers from Peter’s throat at every buck of his hips sounded so pleading Quentin couldn’t believe he had held out this long. He knew it was the dynamic they had between them because with any other partner he would have given in to his own desires long ago. But everything about Peter screamed to be controlled, to be manipulated, to be denied. 

He had already done that once, now he was thinking he should reward the kid for his good behavior.

“Okay, kiddo. Since you told me how well you listened, you get a reward.” The words, whispered in a husky voice directly into Peter’s ear, made every single one of the boy’s muscles clench. “Go ahead, Peter. Take what you need.”

Pulling Peter’s ear lobe into his mouth again to nip at it with his sharp teeth gave a very satisfying result. Quentin could feel how tight Peter was, all of the tension gripping his body, unable to get it to release with how badly he needed to come. 

Quentin almost felt bad, but he knew what he had planned for the rest of the night and comforted himself with the fact that Peter wouldn’t be able to tense a muscle up if he tried by the time Quentin was done with him. He would be loose and boneless and the most relaxed he had ever been.

Even the unstoppable force that was Peter’s brain wouldn’t be able to function properly by the time he let the kid rest.

Peter latched onto Quentin even harder, unintentionally knocking him back against the wall that was just behind where they were standing. Super strength. Quentin had been on the receiving end of that strength a time or two, but never had it thrilled him the way it did now. 

The hum of a different kind of arousal that shot up his spine was a surprise. That might be worth looking into at a later date.

He couldn’t think about that now, though. Peter had gotten himself situated so that he was all out humping against Quentin’s thigh, the man leaning far enough against the wall that the kid had a better angle to use to get himself off. In the process, he had grabbed onto Quentin’s arm and was holding him just a bit steadier so when he worked his hips back, the very tip of Quentin’s finger breached his hole.

There was a delicious catch to Peter’s breathing because of it, timed perfectly with the penetration. Man, this kid was just about perfect at this. He was mindlessly chasing his orgasm now, but he still seemed to be missing something.

Quentin knew well enough how the kid worked, so he knew exactly what he needed in order to finish. “Come on, Peter. What’s taking so long?” His words had always had an affect on Peter, clearly this was just more proof of that. “I thought you were desperate. What’s the hold up, here?”

Intellectual stimulation even in this state, because of course it would take more work to get this kid’s brain to turn off, or even slow down, for that matter.

The high pitch whine Peter let out was beyond frustrated. Quentin could sympathize. It must have been awful by now. Unable to let go without even knowing what was holding him back.

“Do you need me to tell you? Is that it? You couldn’t come for two whole weeks because I said not to, so now you need me to give you permission, is that what you need?”

Peter moaned and squirmed against Quentin, barely even able to keep up the motion with his hips anymore. “Use those words, kiddo.”

He dropped his head forward against Quentin's shoulder and took in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself enough to speak.

"Yes." The word came out by itself, cut short in a way that told Quentin he had more to say. 

"Yes, what, Peter? You've gotta give me more than that, honey."

As he said it, he pressed his finger harder against Peter’s hole, finally breaching him up to the first knuckle.

Peter threw his head back and let loose a string of, “Yes! Yes, please, yes! I need it, I need it so badly, I need you to let me come, I can’t, please. Please let me-”

Quentin cut off what would absolutely have been a gorgeous stream of begging until Peter was given his release. “Okay. You need me to let you come? Do it. Come for me, Peter.”

Quentin made sure to pull back so he could watch the kid come apart from the best point of view imaginable: the view of the person making him fall apart.

Peter’s mouth opened around the cry he let out. Quentin could see his tongue lolling in his own mouth, useless for the moment. Under any other circumstances that would be a shame because Quentin had just realized how much he liked that tongue, both while mouthing off to him as well as the newly discovered talent of using it on parts of Quentin’s body.

The rest of that thought would still have to wait for another time. His plan was all but ironclad at this point.

He could feel Peter’s cock twitch against his thigh, hips slamming forward enough it was jarring to Quentin. Again with that super strength. He’d have to be careful of that.

Peter’s eyes rolled back in his head, the lack of focus in them even when they returned to normal obvious. His pupils were still so dilated Quentin knew he had never seen those eyes so dark before. He could get used to seeing this look on Peter.

When he let his head flop back down to a normal position, he was breathing harder than Quentin had ever seen him, chest heaving as he tried to drag in enough air to make up for the exertion from moments ago. 

Their chests rubbed against each other with every breath. Quentin knew he was breathing hard as well, though nothing compared to Peter. There was sweat beaded up along the kid’s hairline, a few drops rolling down his neck. 

Quentin gave Peter a few moments to relax himself before giving into one of his own desires, following the trail of sweat down the slim neck.

Yeah, his marks were almost completely gone already. He would have to fix that. No better time than the present.

He started slowly this time. He knew exactly how sensitive Peter would be now, after such an intense orgasm that had been building for the better part of two weeks. On top of that, his age, still being a teenager, and then his super senses were sure to make everything feel all the more overwhelming. 

So, Quentin started off with slow, open mouth kisses, letting his tongue taste the sweat streaks along the pale stretch of skin. He added a little soft sucking here and there, waiting for Peter to start responding to him again. 

The blissed out boy was just leaning against him, giving no indication he even felt anything, other than the occasional twitch his whole body would give in what Quentin presumed were some pretty pleasant aftershocks.

He could feel the wet spot that had seeped from Peter’s jeans all the way through. He could feel that Peter never even started getting soft. His orgasm didn’t seem to have slaked his need at all, despite the obvious release of tension in the rest of Peter’s body. 

Good. When Peter started rocking gently into Quentin again, tiny, “uh, ah ah, ohhh” sounds that he didn’t even seem to be aware of, it was time to start for real.

Quentin used his grip on the kid’s hips and ass to swing him around and slam him into the wall Quentin had been leaning against. He pressed in as tight and as close as he could, removing the hand from Peter’s hips to grab his chin instead, keeping a finger pressed to his ass.

Peter’s head slammed back against the wall, no warning for the sudden change meaning he hadn’t braced himself against it. There was a loud thunking sound and he felt his ears ringing.

Looking up with startled eyes, he saw Quentin towering over him, using every inch of his additional height to his advantage again. 

Peter felt well and truly trapped, impaled on one of the man’s fingers, jaw held tightly in the large hand pressing his head harshly against the wall, body trapped there by the bulk of the man in front of him.

The fact he had powers and could overpower anyone who trapped him like this never even crossed his mind. Maybe because subconsciously he was so confident he was safe here he didn’t need the reminder.

Still, his conscious mind was barely functioning at that particular moment, so the eyes that met Quentin’s had fear in them he hadn’t seen from the kid before. 

Suddenly, they were a lot closer to Mysterio and Spider-Man than Quentin and Peter. 

The number of times Quentin had thought of this exact scenario and held back were all wasted times in his mind, now. If he had known Peter would be this perfect he never would have tried to stop himself.

“Now,” Quentin started, “you’ve gotten what you wanted, it’s my turn.” He smiled at the look on Peter’s face, horrified but no less interested than he had been moments ago. He could still feel him hard against his thigh.

“Time to test how rough Spider-Man really likes it.” He increased the strength of his grip a bit more on Peter’s jaw, pressing harder against the wall, turning his face in the process. When Peter’s cheek was flush against the wall, Quentin dove in, teeth sinking too far into the skin connecting Peter’s neck to his shoulder, just above his shirt collar.

Peter shouted out at the sudden sting, writhing against the man. He wasn’t trying to get him to release, just testing his boundaries. Quentin wanted to make sure that he knew if they needed to stop, he would. He wasn't about to be that kind of person that wouldn’t listen to the word ‘no.’

No, Quentin was going to take his pleasure in knowing just how much everyone’s favorite superhero liked to be roughed up against a wall.

And other surfaces. He wasn’t that particular. But the wall was right there, so it was as good a place to start as any.

Keeping Peter pinned to the wall, he sucked hard on where he had latched on with his teeth. He was planning on leaving as much of a mark behind as possible and would see exactly how many he could get away with before this was over.

Peter huffed at the pull, tingling sensation heading directly for his cock, finishing filling out his erection again as if it wasn’t plenty prominent already.

He had no room to move like this. The thought was more thrilling than it had any right to be. This was Quentin Beck, Mysterio, his number one enemy, and he couldn’t get enough of being physically overpowered by the man.

He reassured himself a bit by remembering that he wasn’t Spider-Man right now, there was nothing riding on him needing to escape the man’s grasp.

Maybe that fact was just what he needed to truly experience this for the first time. Because he found he loved it. His cheeks turned red as he viewed their previous encounters through a different lens.

Every blow the man had delivered, every surface he had been pinned to, every bit of taunting that had been thrown at him, it all had new meaning. And he was horrified at how much he enjoyed it.

Quentin had moved on to a new place on his neck. When he was done leaving another mark, marking Peter as his as much as he could with their clothes still on, he came back up to his full height.

Looking into Peter’s eyes more intent and serious than he had seemed all evening, he asked, “Are you ready for this, Peter?” 

Peter could tell the look on his face was impatient because the man chuckled. “Okay. If you need me to stop, say so. Or, you know how to make me stop if it comes to it.”

It wouldn’t, he knew that. He wouldn’t push, and Peter would enjoy every bit of it, so there would be no issue, but it still needed saying.

Peter gave an incremental thrust against Quentin, displaying how ready he was. Letting go of Peter’s jaw, he patted on the boy’s cheek just a bit harder than was playful, saying, “Patience. This is for me, remember?”

The last pat to his cheek had Peter moaning again. “Oh yeah? Do you like that, too? Not just being treated rough, but a little pain thrown in with it?”

Peter’s cheeks burned in shame at the truth because he couldn’t very well dispute what his body was laying out as pure fact. Damn, traitorous body.

There was a sly grin on the man’s face that was Peter’s only warning before a slapping sound rang through the room. 

Peter felt his head being forced to the side abruptly. Slowly, the realization that he had just been slapped for real dawned on him. The fact of who it was that had done it made him moan, body convulsing, the arousal coursing through him was so strong.

Quentin watched the mark on his cheek darken just slightly. It wouldn’t last long but it was enough to please something deep inside him. The response from Peter was mesmerizing as well. Quickly, he did it again, barely giving Peter time to recover from it happening the first time.

The sound that left Peter at the abuse could only be called a sigh. Quentin watched as Peter’s body sagged against the wall. He had thought the boy was relaxed already. Seeing the remaining tension seep from him showed just how much pent up frustration he had to work out.

Good thing Quentin had already planned on taking his time with the kid.

“Oh, wow. When I said you’d like that, I had no idea you’d like it that much.” Quentin knew there was a tone of awe in his voice. From what he knew of Peter, he didn’t think that would ruin the experience for him. He was an easy mark with compliments normally, surely they wouldn’t turn him off in this setting, even if rough was what he was after.

“How often did you go home from our little fights and feel desperate for more, huh? Was it everyone, or is this just with me? If that Vulture guy had you pinned against a wall, arms above your head and fucked you hard, would that do it for you? Or am I the lucky one, here?”

Peter groaned at the image of Quentin doing just that: shoving him face first into a wall somewhere on the streets, face scraping the brick in a way that stung so nice, hand pinned beside him and the other wrapped around behind his back. 

Quentin would be in his Mysterio get up, that costume that showed off all of his muscles in strategic ways, breathing against the back of his neck as he somehow managed to tear a hole in his Spider-Man costume in order to gain access to Peter’s ass.

He wouldn’t waste time prepping Peter, he would finger him just long enough that he wouldn’t be unbearably tight around Quentin’s thick cock when he finally squeezed inside Peter, hard and fast pace setting them both off quickly.

Peter whined in real life in time with the whine he gave in his fantasy. “What are you thinking about, baby? You never answered me. Is it just anybody that can get you to make these noises? That can make you this vulnerable, even though you’re more powerful than any of us?”

Peter shook his head hastily. “No? No what, kiddo? No, nobody else can make you like this? I hope not. Cause after this, it’s all mine. You’re all mine.”

The desperate nod of Peter’s head was unexpected but it sent a wave of need crashing through Quentin, reminding him that he had desires here and all of this was for him, even if it was for Peter more.

He drove his hips forward against Peter, feeling the drag of friction on his cock and suddenly questioning why they were both fully dressed still.

He would fix that soon. He still needed an answer for what Peter had been thinking that got such an enthusiastic response. He had a guess already.

“Were you thinking about it? Huh? Thinking about me shoving you up against a wall and just fucking taking what I want? Making it hurt just right for you?” Peter’s mouth dropped open but no sound escaped this time. It was the same look kids got looking in the window of a bakery, all the cookies and cakes making them drool with want.

“Show me how it went.” Peter froze, his squirming body stilling instantly, not wanting to admit the scene that had flashed through his mind. “Come on, if my slutty little baby wants something, I better make sure he gets it, right, kiddo?”

Peter looked down, eyelashes brushing his cheekbones. “Peter. Show me or tell me. Now.” His tone had that no nonsense thing to it again that made Peter want to listen. 

Uncertain, he looked up, then shyly turned around, one hand pressing his palm flat against the wall right beside where his cheek rested, the other arm held bent behind his back in a position that looked oddly familiar… 

Quentin damn near growled as the memory came flooding back, him shoving Peter into this very position just over a month ago in one of their little battles on the streets of New York. So the kid had been having the same thoughts as Quentin. He wasn’t as innocent as he looked.

Quentin surged forward before Peter got the chance to feel awkward and try to turn around. He grabbed the kid’s wrists where they lay offered up for him, just the way he had pinned him to the side of that building. This time he allowed himself to press closer, full body rubbing against Peter’s.

Using his superior weight to keep Peter pressed to the wall, and trapping the hand behind his back between Peter’s back and his front, Quentin freed a hand to move down to the front of Peter’s pants. He unfastened the belt and the button, shoving the zipper down and yanking them over his ass.

His underwear must have just gone down right along with his jeans because suddenly Quentin’s hand was filled with the creamy flesh of Peter’s ass cheek. He took a second to knead the meat of his ass, trim but perfectly shaped.

He moved his hand around to the front of the kid, freeing his poor cock from where his jeans had caught around it, allowing it to spring free, only to be gripped tight in Quentin’s hand. He could feel the damp stickiness from his previous orgasm, but he also felt the precome from how worked up he already was again. 

He could probably do one more. After all, he had done a very good job listening to Quentin so far. Especially for not knowing the rules.

A nagging voice reminded him this wasn’t how he should be going about this. There was a proper process to follow for these things, but at this point, fuck propriety. The kid was desperate enough he had come to a random location, specified by his  _ enemy _ ; who knew how much more messed up the kid actually was in the rest of his life.

He would get him taken care of tonight and then they would deal with all the rest later.

The pace Quentin set for stroking Peter was slow at first, but when the kid’s hips began working out of his control, he was forced to speed up. From there, it was simple to just keep increasing the speed and the pressure to get him worked back up to the edge.

Quentin was enjoying himself as well. He had opened his own pants and taken his cock out, fitting it in between the cheeks of Peter’s ass, rutting there like he had no more control than Peter did. 

Not that it was far off.

He could feel how slick Peter had gotten from his own precome. He wondered if he would be able to get Peter to break for long enough to go get some actual lube but then decided he would cross that bridge when they got to it. Worst case scenario, he had definitely gotten creative for lube before.

Peter was to the point the little noises weren’t so little anymore. There were definitely some words in there, mostly, “oh, oh god, yes” and “please, yes, more” and even a few, “more, faster, don’t stop, don’t” pleas thrown in. Quentin had never been more turned on by a partner verbalizing, and he’d had quite a few that tried.

Just none as perfect as Peter.

He could sense how close Peter was. There was no rhythm to how his hips were moving anymore, just blindly chasing his orgasm that only Quentin could give him. Because he was pretty sure the kid was still waiting for that same something more that he had been missing last time.

“What do you need, Peter?” Quentin asked when he was positive the kid was ready to burst, simply unable to get there without assistance.

Peter ignored the words, acting as though he hadn’t heard anything, still mindlessly thrusting into Quentin’s hand.

Quickly, Quentin tightened his grip to an uncomfortable tightness, and at the same time, landed a solid slap against Peter’s ass cheek.

The slap made Peter cry out, and Quentin could see tears on his cheek again when he rested his flushed face back against the cool wall. Slapping his ass once more, just for good measure, he asked again, “Tell me what you need, Peter. That wasn’t optional. You have been doing so well at listening, don’t wanna mess it up now, do we?”

“You! I need you, please, you have to tell me, have to let me-” Slapping him on the ass one last time, Quentin made his words cut off before saying,”Go ahead, baby. Come for me again.”

With a shout, Peter did just that, covering the wall in front of him as well as Quentin’s hand and part of his own shirt in stripes of come.

Quentin stroked him through it, back to kissing and biting at his neck while he came back down. When the aftershocks of Peter’s orgasm died down, he brought his come covered hand around behind the kid and trailed his fingers down over his back, past the little dimples at the base of his spine and in between his cheeks, finding his hole again quickly. 

Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort of dragging himself away from Peter to try and find the bottle of lube (that was right next to his bed on the nightstand), he slowly pushed a finger into Peter’s tight hole.

He knew the boy was still lost to the sensation of his second orgasm in less than thirty minutes. Quentin wasn’t sure how long it had been exactly, but definitely less than a half hour. So he used his finger to let his body adjust to the intrusion before adding a second finger.

The come on his hand helped the stretch not be too uncomfortable. Peter was beginning to be more aware, hips rocking lightly back and forth, seeming to enjoy the sensation. He sighed when it felt particularly nice. Quentin kissed his neck again before asking, “Did you want another finger, or did you wanna feel it?”

Normally, with a new partner he wouldn’t dream of letting things proceed so quickly. But Peter seemed to respond well to hurried and a little bit painful, so Quentin would let him decide. Much as he was still a kid, he really was old enough to decide some things for himself.

“Wanna feel, need it.” Peter’s voice was breathy, words a bit slurred from how relaxed he had gotten, pleasure seeping from every syllable.

So Quentin used the rest of the come on his hand – not much, but enough – to give himself a base coat to slick his way, then lined himself up, reassuring Peter. “Okay, I got you. Gonna go slow, though. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Peter let out a sound of protest, clearly wanting it to hurt a little, so Quentin clarified. “We don't want it to hurt too badly. You’ve gotta last until I come, still.” He thrust his cock against Peter to ensure he felt the still achingly hard length.

Not that it would take him long but he didn’t want to tell Peter that. Not while he was like this.

Peter settled back against the wall, seeming appeased for the moment. Quentin pressed himself against the ring of muscle and took a breath to calm himself down so he didn’t lose it as soon as he pressed in.

Slowly he sank forward, inch by inch filling Peter, heat and pressure becoming the only things he could focus on for a moment. Before he was halfway in, Peter decided he needed more and thrust his hips back hard, taking the remainder of Quentin’s length so he was buried balls deep in the kid.

Peter choked on his own shout, the moan he had started with cutting off abruptly as the burn of the stretch took over. He was gasping in huge lungfuls of air, trying to adjust to the new feeling of being full.

Quentin would have done a better job at reassuring Peter, except he wasn’t doing much better himself. His mind had blanked out, his entire existence narrowing down to just the amazing, wonderful tightness surrounding him.

He snapped out of it quickly when he heard a sound like a sob. True, he wanted to wreck the boy, but not actually hurt him outside the realm of what he would enjoy. That was why their fights always ended with an impasse. Neither could really put their all into the fighting when they didn’t actually want to hurt the other.

“Kiddo?” He pulled one hand from where he had been guiding Peter’s hips, and brought it back to stroke gently down his spine. “I warned you it would hurt if we didn’t take it slow.” He kept his scolding to a minimum, knowing Peter was in a very vulnerable state right now.

He kissed at Peter’s shoulder and continued petting him, wrapping his arm around to run his fingers over Peter’s chest and belly. On one pass he dropped them lower than they had been and he felt Peter’s responding shiver.

Encouraged, he let his finger drift a little lower with every pass. Eventually, he ran into Peter’s cock, standing ready for more like he hadn’t just had two insanely intense orgasms practically in a row.

When Quentin wrapped his hand around Peter and he bucked forward against his palm, he decided the kid was ready for more. Carefully, he pulled out as far as he could without withdrawing completely, pausing for a moment before surging forward again, burying himself all the way back inside that wonderful heat.

Peter’s mouth hadn’t closed since Quentin first started pushing inside him, but his mouth snapped shut around the groan he started choking out. Quentin made sure to hold very still as he reminded Peter, “Nuh, uh, none of that, kiddo. You don’t hide those sounds from me. Remember why?”

Peter huffed a few breaths, then nodded. “Words, baby. Why do I get to hear them?”

“Because… because they’re, they’re yours. And you, you earned them!”

Peter finished his sentence with a shout as Quentin rammed himself back into Peter. He was through waiting for his own pleasure when his partner was clearly enjoying it just as much as he was.

He started up a hard and fast rhythm in and out, enjoying how Peter clenched around his cock, the reactions clearly showing just how much he was enjoying it all.

It took Peter a moment to acclimate to Quentin’s harsh pace but once he did, he tried his best to throw his hips back to meet Quentin’s, driving the man even deeper into him. 

Quentin knew exactly when he found Peter’s prostate, the hoarse “Ah!” sounded like he’d received a punch to the gut rather than the hard fucking he was getting. The boy’s back arched in what looked like a painful manner before his knees gave out and he was only upright still because of the grip Quentin had on him.

He was sure he was leaving bruises. Hopefully, he would get the chance to see them before they faded completely.

Peter was losing his mind with how amazing it all felt. It was the best thing he had ever experienced. He felt full, and covered, and small, and vulnerable and, oh man, the actual physical feeling. Stretched to the point of pain, and Quentin was keeping it fast and hard enough that he couldn’t quite get used to the feeling, so it just stayed there, right at too much.

Quentin was back to biting and sucking at his neck and he couldn’t contain himself anymore. “Beck! Quentin, I need more, give me, I can’t…” When Quentin stopped all movement and raised his head to look at Peter’s face, he saw the tears running freely down his cheeks again. The broken sentences, the tears, the uncoordinated movements, trying to force himself back further onto Quentin’s cock, they all played perfectly into his plan for the evening.

“I don’t think so, kiddo.” Quentin shook his head, trying to seem sorry that the answer was no, while he was enjoying every second of it. “You already got to come twice, Peter. Anything more would just be too much. Two orgasms and you’re still begging for more? I don’t wanna spoil my little slut, do I?” 

Peter’s eyes got wide at that, not comprehending how the answer could be no after Quentin had done so much to get him to this point. Wasn’t this the goal of the entire evening?

“Here’s how the rest of the night is gonna go.” Quentin started moving again, shallow and slow so the boy could focus on his words. “You’re gonna make me come, and then I’m gonna keep playing with you for a while, because I can’t think of a better way to calm back down. And then I’m gonna play with you some more, just because I love seeing you so worked up. And then, maybe I’ll be done with you. For the night.”

Peter whined at the stimulation that wasn’t nearly enough and felt his brain go almost staticky at the matter of fact tone, like he had no say in the matter. Like he was just along for the ride.

“Good, glad you agree. Not that it matters what you say. Your every move is telling me just how much you need this,” Quentin slammed in deep, making Peter cry out again. “But you need more too, don’t you? You need someone to tell you what you need, what it is you’ve been craving so badly, you can’t think straight.”

Peter was practically drooling against the wall. He was still trying to meet Quentin’s thrusts, still grinding his ass back whenever he could coordinate the movements well enough.

“If you wanted this to stop, I would know. You wouldn’t even have to say anything, I could tell. I know how to read you so well. You know that. So just let it happen. You want everything I’m offering, so just  _ let it happen  _ and enjoy.”

There wasn’t really a need for words after that. Quentin went back to fucking Peter hard and fast, and Peter was still waiting for more to come. But it never did. 

He felt Quentin’s thrusts become more and more erratic, then he fucked in deep once, twice, then held there buried deep while his cock twitched through his release. 

He let out a shout that made Peter feel a sense of pride for no real reason, and the groan that followed, low and soft, rumbled right through Peter’s chest.

True to his word, as soon as he had recovered from his orgasm, Quentin pulled out of Peter and shoved two fingers back in him.

It was plenty slick now, the kid’s hole filled with Quentin’s come. He had to suppress another groan at the sight. He really wanted to go again but he knew that he would need some time to recover from the first round.

Feeling around, stroking Peter’s walls, he found that spot again and decided to see what sounds he could wring from Peter.

Rubbing over it softly had Peter twitching and biting his lip, a hum telling Quentin how pleasant the feeling was. Pressing harder, the kid grunted and pressing back onto Quentin’s fingers.

Peter kept rocking backwards steadily. Quentin noticed he couldn’t see Peter’s other hand. Reaching around, he followed the kid’s arm down to where he had his hand wrapped around himself, fucking his own fist like he just couldn’t help it.

“Oh, no you don’t. That is not for you to touch anymore. Not when I’m around and definitely not without permission,” Quentin said as he removed Peter’s hand and pressed it firmly into the wall. Leaning in tight against his back again, Quentin was thankful that Peter’s legs had started supporting some of his own weight again, though he was sure if he let go entirely, Peter would end up in a heap on the floor.

“And if I remember correctly, I already said no. Do you remember me saying that, Peter? I’ll admit, you may have been a bit distracted, so I’ll let it slide. Just this once. And I’ll say it just once more: you may not come again until I tell you to. Now, do you understand, Peter?”

Quentin watched every bit of tension seep from the boy’s entire body. He tightened his grip to make sure the kid wasn’t just going to keel over. The reaction might have concerned him from anyone else, but for some reason with Peter it just made sense. 

This kid was still a teenager, literally a kid when he got his powers, and he had been running around playing hero with the grownups ever since. If anyone needed to be able to let go, it was him. 

Catching Peter as he started sliding down the wall further, he looked around for a second deciding on his next course of action. 

As he adjusted his hold and stance so he could scoop Peter up, one arm behind his shoulders, one behind his knees, the boy just let himself be maneuvered. Quentin had never felt so humbled and so like he had done something right in his whole life.

Peter had just enough awareness left to raise his arms to wrap around Quentin’s neck. He nuzzled his face into the man who smelled like the only person to ever treat him like an adult, smelled like familiarity he shouldn’t have considering how he knew the man, and a sense of security washed over him anew. 

He wasn’t sure what was happening, but he just felt like he could exist and everything would be fine. There was nothing wrong with anything, he was with the person who could let him just be. His eyes had been closed for a while now but it was okay. He didn’t have to protect anyone when he was like this. He was just here and everything was so peaceful, there was nothing he could even think of needing to protect against.

Quentin took them to his bedroom, settling Peter on the bed, making sure he looked comfortable. He moved away, assuring Peter that he’d “be right back, sweetheart, don’t worry. Just getting something to clean us up with. I’ll be back in less than a minute, I promise.”

When he returned, he kissed Peter on the lips, not exactly gentle because it was still very possessive, tongue sweeping into Peter’s mouth, still owning the boy, but it was soft and reassuring somehow even then.

He pulled back after Peter’s kisses became sloppy and uncoordinated. He picked up the washcloth he had run under the warm water in the bathroom and wiped himself off quickly, before reaching between Peter’s legs.

The whine from his lips stopped Quentin from going any further. Looking up, he saw the frown on the boy’s face, eyes open and watching Quentin with a rather upset look.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? I’m just going to clean you up. Don’t you wanna feel clean again?” He tried, not understanding what part of his actions Peter could be unhappy about. 

“You’re all sticky, it can’t be comfortable.”

Peter’s frown deepened but he let his head relax back against the pillow it had been resting on. “Okay,” came his small voice, so soft Quentin barely heard it. But he did hear it, and he couldn’t help the feeling he had somehow disappointed the boy.

“Hey, kiddo,” Quentin started, unsure what to do until Peter told him what was wrong. “Can you talk to me?” He reached a hand up and cupped Peter’s cheek, fingers softly petting over the skin there. “What are you sad about, baby? I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

Peter had settled some against Quentin’s palm, the touch acting as an anchor, something for him to hold on to while he drifted. He shrugged his shoulders, though the movement was barely noticeable.

“Come on, Peter. What do you need? You don’t want me to clean you up?” Quentin was still trying to get to the root of the problem, which was more difficult when your partner was going through a nonverbal phase.

Peter thought for a moment then shook his head. Again the movement was very small, Quentin felt it more than he saw it. 

“Okay, that’s fine, honey. I don’t have to clean you off.” Maybe he had done something wrong? Crossed some sort of boundary he hadn’t known was there and Peter didn’t want him to touch him there anymore? Or, maybe since they were done, he just didn’t feel comfortable with Quentin touching him like that now.

“Can you tell me why, though?” Peter shook his head again. “Do you wanna do it yourself?” Another shake of his head. “...do you not want me to touch you there anymore?”

That struck a chord with Peter because his eyes opened again, and he shook his head frantically against Quentin’s palm. “No! Please, ’s not what I meant! Don’t, you were gonna, you said you... but then you didn’t and I- no! Please!”

Peter was on the verge of panic now. Clearly, Quentin had missed something for Peter to react like this. Using his other hand to stroke over Peter’s side, under his shirt, fingers brushing over skin, Quentin thought on what few words Peter had managed.

_ You said you were gonna _ . That seemed to be what Peter was trying to get across. What had he said?

_ “You’re gonna make me come, and then I’m gonna keep playing with you for a while, because I can’t think of a better way to calm back down. And then I’m gonna play with you some more, because I love seeing you so worked up. And then, maybe I’ll be done with you. For the night.” _

Oh. Quentin felt an all new spark of arousal shoot through him. Too bad it was much too soon for another round. 

“Is this about what I said earlier? Huh?” Peter opened his eyes again, slowly, almost hesitantly. He didn’t nod his head, but he didn’t shake it either, so Quentin thought he must be on the right track. “When I said I was gonna play with you, then play with you some more, and you were just gonna enjoy it? Is that it?”

Shyly, Peter looked away, unable to meet Quentin’s eyes, like doing so would be admitting to a bad thing. The way his cheeks turned red was enough of a confirmation for Quentin. 

“Aww, baby, no. It’s fine. We can do more if you want to. Do you want more still?” Peter nodded once. “Even though I’m not gonna let you come again?” He needed Peter to remember that, needed to know what his answer was when he knew it wasn’t going to lead anywhere for him. If he let it, Quentin was sure the entire effect would be ruined for the poor kid.

Peter closed his eyes again. This time they looked scrunched instead of peaceful. He let out a breath and tried speaking again, tongue still working too slow for it to go well. “Don’t hafta… ‘f you don’ wanna, ‘s okay…”

And that just wouldn’t do. “Hey, no. Stop that, Peter.” He kept his voice kind but firm, unwilling to let Peter think he was upset with him, but also not about to let this slip by unaddressed.

“If that’s what you want, kiddo, then that sounds amazing. You were so out of it, I didn’t think you would want to.” His hands slid down over Peter’s ribs and stomach and he felt the kid’s abs quiver at the touch. “But if you do… that can absolutely be arranged.”

Quentin let his hand run down further, brushing the base of Peter’s cock, still half hard, and lower down, over his balls that tightened as his nail scraped over them lightly, all the way back to circle over his hole. Peter sunk deeper into the pillows, nodding his head fiercely, unable to stop the pleased sound from escaping.

“Is that what you want? I need to hear it, Peter.”

“Yes, please.” Of course, the kid managed to articulate those two words perfectly, Quentin thought as he let his finger sink into Peter again.

Peter sighed and relaxed fully back against the bed. Well, this was unexpected, but definitely better than the thoughts that had raced through Quentin’s mind as Peter had stopped him from cleaning him.

Well, if Peter wanted more, then he would give Peter more. That was certainly no hardship.

Quentin spent some time working Peter up from one finger to two this time. Not that he needed it, since they wouldn’t be doing more tonight. Especially with Peter this far gone. He’d need some serious time to come back from this, though hopefully things would be better for him once he did.

No, now he was just enjoying the sensations. Without the pressing need, Quentin could take in and savor all the tiny reactions he got, what made the boy twitch and writhe, what made him sigh and moan. 

Everything was lighter now, softer. Peter never tried for anything more than what Quentin was giving him. As he stroked Peter’s prostate, he saw that Peter was hard, and it must have been unpleasant, but you couldn’t tell from the expression of pure bliss Peter had on his face. 

Quentin could see his come dripping from Peter’s hole around his fingers. He used it as extra lube and did his best to make sure it stayed in. Peter wriggled his hips happily at the feeling of Quentin pressing it back inside him. 

His hips gave little rocking motions but Quentin could tell it was just instinctual. There was no conscious effort to get more, to chase an orgasm he wouldn’t be getting.

Quentin made sure to steer clear of Peter’s cock, unsure if the oversensitivity there would jolt Peter out of his blissful state but unwilling to risk it either way. He did press kisses to the skin around it, sucking a couple of small marks that he watched fade before his eyes. He bit once and Peter let out a louder huff of air, but that was the most he gave for a reaction.

Finally, he saw a hint of awareness come back to Peter’s eyes. He watched his fingers twitch, curling into the sheets, and his breathing came back from the steady almost sleep-like breathing he had been seeing in the rise and fall of Peter’s chest.

He removed his fingers from Peter’s hole, then pulled back so he was at a better position to monitor the boy’s return to true consciousness. After a few moments, he spoke.

“Hey, kiddo. You back with me a little bit?” He smiled at the dazed look still present on Peter’s face. “What do you say we get you cleaned up a bit now? How does that sound?”

Peter went to sit up and winced. Quentin squeezed his shoulder in sympathy and said,” Don’t worry. I’ve got a cloth right here. Just let me take care of you for a bit, okay?”

He got the feeling that if Peter were a bit more aware and a bit less sore, he would have put up more of a fight. As it was, he just laid back and let Quentin wipe him down with the cool cloth, finally taking his clothes off as he went. 

It probably felt good for a few seconds but by the time Quentin was done cleaning him up, he was shivering. Dragging one of the blankets free from the bed, he made sure Peter was covered before telling him, “Just wait here. I’ll get you some clothes to put on so you’re more comfortable.”

He wandered around the room, grabbing underwear and sweatpants for them both from the dresser, as well as socks for Peter, then a t-shirt for himself and a lightweight hoodie from the closet for Peter. He put the clothes on the bed and quickly pulled the blanket off of Peter, making sure to warn him with a soft, “Let’s get you dressed, now. That’ll really warm you up.”

All the clothes were much too big on Peter, of course, with the exception of the socks. Not that Peter seemed to mind at all. Once he was dressed he pulled his feet in so they were covered by the legs of the pants and did the same with his hands, hiding them in the sleeves of the hoodie. 

Quentin was sure if he was more himself he would have tugged the hood up into place to complete the look, so before he laid back down, Quentin did it for him, smiling at the sight.

Once Peter was laying down and covered back up, Quentin got himself into his clean clothes, tossing his dirty ones across the room in the vague direction of the hamper in his closet. He was sure he missed but he had more important matters to attend to.

He settled himself in the bed under the blanket with Peter and, giving him time to pull away if he needed to, reached out to pull Peter against him. They both laid on their sides, Peter’s face buried in Quentin’s chest. 

Quentin could feel the warmth everytime Peter breathed, could feel his chest expand and deflate. He felt Peter’s hand come up and clutch at his shirt, like he was making sure Quentin didn’t leave. The very thought was ridiculous to Quentin. Like he could leave after all of that.

Peter would have a hard time getting rid of him after what happened. No one had ever been so perfect for Quentin and they hadn’t even discussed things beforehand. It had just naturally happened in a way so perfect, not even Quentin could have imagined it. 

And he had imagined plenty.

“Relax, kiddo. I’m not going anywhere.” He tightened his arms around the boy, making sure he felt secure but not trapped. “You can let go if you want. I’ll still be here. I’ve already got water on the nightstand for us. Trust me, the furthest I’ll go is the bathroom. Maybe the kitchen to get us something to eat if I’m feeling really ambitious.” He laughed when that earned him the smallest chuckle. “Otherwise, I’ll be right here.”

He ran his hand up and down Peter’s back. There was no tension there but he was sure some of his muscles were sore from the position he had held for so long. Adding more pressure, he rubbed at Peter’s back, alternating sides and pressure until the kid was sighing against his chest and his grip had eased from Quentin’s t-shirt.

“Here, how about I roll over and you can lay on me? You can make sure I don’t go anywhere that way. Does that sound better?” He looked down at Peter, unable to see his expression because of the shadows the hood cast on his face. “Might be more comfortable too.”

He could tell that Peter wanted to move, but was scared that if he did he might mess something up or do something wrong. He’d have to work with the kid on those insecurities, fast. He couldn’t imagine Peter doing anything wrong ever.

Apparently the idea of moving was enticing enough that he eventually nodded and let Quentin rearrange them so he was flat on his back with Peter half draped over him, head on his shoulder, arm on his chest. The hand was gripping his shirt again but he’d get Peter comfortable again and then it wouldn’t be an issue.

He felt Peter’s leg tentatively come up from resting stretched out beside Quentin’s to hovering over the top of Quentin’s thigh. Quentin reached under the blanket, using the arm not wrapped around Peter’s back, and held onto Peter’s thigh, rubbing little circles there with his thumb.

Peter could feel the heat from Quentin everywhere they touched: against his cheek, along his chest, around his back where those long fingers were tracing patterns into his skin, and now on his thigh, where his thumb was pressing and rubbing. He couldn’t remember ever being so content before.

He shouldn’t have been this content. He shouldn’t have been this at ease, shouldn’t let his guard down so far around this man. But everything in him was telling him to just let it happen and that voice was getting harder and harder to ignore the heavier his eyes got.

Quentin seemed to understand, like he always did, because he said, just as Peter was trying to get the nerve up to say something, anything, “I know you’ve got questions. I can hear them rattling around in that big brain of yours.” 

He squeezed the thigh he was holding to try and reassure Peter. “I promise, anything you are thinking right now, it can wait. Get some sleep and we can deal with the rest when you’ve had some sleep.” He felt Peter getting ready to protest and cut him off. “And when we both have a clear head. Cause I’m betting yours isn’t quite there yet, am I right?”

Peter tensed against him at the reminder of his vulnerable state, then melted back into the larger body beneath him. He was right. It could wait. All he wanted to do now was sleep and that was exactly what Quentin was offering: sleep and then talking, in that order.

It sounded reasonable to Peter, so he nodded and settled in, closer than before.

“Good.” Quentin brought his hand back out from under the covers and ran his fingers through Peter’s hair. “Just so you know, you’re not the only one who doesn’t want to let go.”

He pressed a kiss to Peter’s temple and pulled back, laying back on his pillow. “Get some sleep, kiddo. Something tells me you haven’t gotten any in awhile.”

In true Peter fashion, he spoke up, voice still barely audible, but unable to let the opportunity pass him by. “Thought I got plenty earlier.” Quentin felt the grin through his shirt and couldn’t help the huffed laugh he gave in response.

“Alright, haha smartypants. Go to sleep or I’m revoking the cuddling.” He could feel the pout Peter gave and he eased up a bit. “And I don’t wanna punish myself like that, but I will if I have to. So don’t make me!”

Peter laughed a bit and somehow, everything was just so natural all of a sudden.

Yeah, definitely lots to talk about tomorrow. But for tonight, they could both just enjoy. So that was what they did. They were both smart, they’d figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Thanks to Raccoon for letting me send it to her halfway through to make sure it wasn't completely stupid and thanks to Rhys for being a wonderful beta even though I was crazy last minute and have no idea how to work with a beta. Both of you are amazing!
> 
> Kudos, comments, and constructive criticisms are always amazing things and make me wanna keep writing so anything you've got, hit me with it!


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